


Tomorrow Is Just Too Far Away

by LapsedPacifist



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angels, Angst, BAMF Nightwing, Batfamily Feels, Demons, Family Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapsedPacifist/pseuds/LapsedPacifist
Summary: An AU with angels and demons. A short story about various siblings dealing with their older brother, who certainly deserves both his names - he is an angel as much as he is a dick. “Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly.”― G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy





	

**Author's Note:**

> ugh. this thing took me almost a week to write, and is not even that long. Oh well.  
> n52 doesn't exist, people can actually hold civil conversations, and canon has been picked clean of good bits.  
> The events are more or less in the order of how they happened, except for the last one.
> 
> Edited 3. 12. 2016  
> Ok, I finally went back and just fixed a couple of smaller mistakes and edited it so that it looks nicer :)

**Tim**

Sometimes, thing just don’t go the way you’ve planned them. Sometimes, a totally unpredictable series of unfortunate events tears your carefully constructed and painfully slowly set up plan to bits, not leaving a shred of sense behind. And sometimes, that doesn’t just happen to your plan A, but your plans B, C, and all the other backups as well.

And that’s when you realize you are just phenomenally _screwed_.

Like for example Tim was right now.

He couldn’t really breathe, not with his possibly bruised, probably broken ribs, and the shallow breaths that he could take were few and far inbetween, a short wheezing sound he would force out every so and so. His heart was beating like crazy, which only made the pool of blood he was lying in grow faster. _Not good._

But there wasn’t anything he could do to rectify his current situation. He couldn’t really move his limbs, as he was too weak because of the blood loss, and his communicator got destroyed long before he realized he needed backup.

His mind was still reeling about the unexpected opponents that he’d encountered.

Angels. Low tier angels guarded the doors where there should’ve been demons in their place, and frankly, even a low single angel was a hard opponent to beat. But four of them?

It Tim wasn’t running on power naps and coffee, if he hadn’t been investigating that case for the past three days and not doing much else, and if he hadn’t been hurt even before he even encountered them, then he _might_ have stood a chance. But not like this.

He coughed again, the pain shooting through his ruined chest. He couldn’t really feel his left leg, and, judging by the weird direction it was bended in, he was lucky not to.

He briefly wondered why they had just left him like that, still breathing and alive, but when the next coughing fit hit him, he realized that they simply didn’t bother to finish him off. Because they were right - he wasn’t going anywhere.

Exactly how long had he been here for, he didn’t know. Has Bruce noticed his absence yet? He shouldn’t have. And even if he did…

Ugh, Bruce. He puzzled about what kind of punishment would he receive after this for a moment. Would he be grounded? Most certainly. He would also have to help Alfred, and maybe stitch up all their costumes.

At that thought, he looked down at his own. There was too much blood and too many holes. This one was certainly going in the trash.

While he was pondering about his costume choices, he noticed his ruined chest again. If he could, he would sigh right now, but since he couldn’t really breathe, he satisfied himself with a mental sight. No medical help would be of any use now.

Tim shuddered at that thought. No, Bruce won’t be able to bear the loss of another Robin, and there isn’t another Tim Drake to take his place. What will happen to…

His pretty morbid thoughts were interrupted by a sound of wings flapping next to him and a loud scream: “ _Tim_!”

What the hell was Dick of all people doing in Gotham? Wasn’t he off with Teen Titans? And why would he come _here_?

Then Dick was on his knees, leaning over him and gently probing his head. “Tim, Tim, you gotta stay awake. Come on, bro, you gotta stay here. Can you hear me?”

He looked very panicked, Tim’s unresponsiveness not easing his worry one bit.

“Yes, I have him. But he is not looking good, in fact, he is looking _very_ bad, B, get your ass here _now!_ ” Dick suddenly shouted, and Tim needed a few seconds to realize he had a communicator in his ear, at which he was yelling.

Then Dick looked down at Tim again, and Tim realized that his eyes were glowing.

Light blue sparks traveled across Dick’s skin to his wings and hands that were currently holding Tim’s head, and his eyes were glowing more and more each second.

“D-ick?” he managed to squeeze out between breaths. He had some vague idea about what was happening, but he was also scared and unsure.

Dick smiled down at him: “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m just going to heal you, alright? Just… Close your eyes. You’ll be fine.”

Tim tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he was too far gone to even attempt any movement, so he simply closed his eyes and drifted off.

* * *

 “-and while we’re talking about that, let me just add…”

When Bruce started lecturing you, there was no end in sight. Tim has been standing here for the past ten minutes, and Bruce was still going on strong, without any hope of stopping any time soon.

Luckily, Dick was standing next to Tim, one of his wings stretched out and laid around Tim’s shoulders, protectively wrapping him. Dick himself had crossed his arms in front of his chest, scowling at Bruce, who was glaring at Tim.

Tim understood Bruce’s anger perfectly well. Not only did he snuck out alone, without leaving any sort of message, but also went on a really dangerous mission, which ended just awfully, requiring Dick to save him. And he was eternally grateful that it was Dick who’d found him, because if it was literally anyone else, he would be dead.

Thank God for angels.

“Are you even listening to me?” Bruce’s voice broke Tim out of his thoughts, and he smiled sheepishly, not bothering to answer.

“Tim, how many times do I have to-”

He was cut off by Dick, who apparently had enough: “Hey, okay, he gets it, it’s fine, you can stop now.”

The glare Bruce sent Dick would have anyone else running away in fear, but Dick just rolled his eyes and said: “Look, can we talk for a second? In private?”

He sent an apologetic look to Tim, and turned towards Bruce again, motioning at the armoury. Bruce sighed, and pointed at Tim: “We aren’t finished,” then turned and followed Dick to the armoury, where he closed the doors behind him.

Tim rolled his eyes at that. He could imagine what they were talking about, and it’s not like he needed to hear it.

Then he spotted the batcomputer, and remembered the security cameras that were everywhere.

It didn’t take him more than a minute to pull up the appropriate feed, and then he just sat back and watched.

Right now, Bruce was hissing something at Dick.

“...and just because you were Robin too that doesn’t mean you did things the same way! Tim is different, and so was Jason! Which you would know if you were around more,” he said, and Dick huffed, clearly annoyed.

“So this is my fault now, ha? Well excuse me for living my life! He was _your_ kid, not mine! But,” he said, cutting off Bruce who clearly wanted to say something, “I don’t want to repeat that particular argument. This is about _Tim._ ”

“What about him? The part where he clearly went against all my orders and got seriously hurt? Dick, he would’ve _died_ without you here! He is trained, but he isn’t… He isn’t you,” he finished.

After all this time, this didn’t even hurt Tim anymore. Because, yes. He wasn’t Dick. He wasn’t even close to being like Dick. For starters, Dick was a freaking _angel,_ and Tim was not. He was fully aware of all his shortcomings and he worked tirelessly on improving himself, but sometimes he just… Wasn’t good enough.

“So this is about him being human?” asked Dick.

And here it was, the sore spot, the elephant in the room. Dick was an angel, Jason a half demon half human, and Bruce one of the top tier demons. Tim? Only human. Just human.

He hated that phrase, ‘only human’. Like being human wasn’t _enough._ But to be fair, in this job, maybe that was true. So many of the villains he faced on a daily (or actually, nightly) basis weren’t human and just served as reminders as how hilariously _unqualified_ he was for the job. Facing angels, who could fly and had super strength and all other crazy abilities, and demons, who could teleport and were just downright nasty, seriously put things in perspective.

Training could only do so much for him, and all the fancy gadgets and carefully constructed plans couldn’t really be of much use in the end. Tim hated that feeling of not being adequate, of not being enough, but he couldn’t get rid of it. No matter what he achieved, what he mastered, there was still a monster out there somewhere who could easily get the best of him just because he was _human._

He was so deep in his thoughts that he almost missed the next thing that Bruce said.

“Dick, you... “

Dick shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips: “It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. Just because I’m an angel, this doesn’t mean something like that couldn’t have happened to me. Look, Tim takes all of this pretty seriously. Even more than I did, and he is good at what he does. Just because he doesn’t have the natural bonus of being a demon or an angel doesn’t immediately mean he is _weak._ No, in fact, he is one of the strongest people that I know! He worked really hard to be here, to be on our level, and he _succeeded._ A lot of people would relax at this point, but not him. He still works as hard, not only keeping up with us, but also surpassing us in certain areas.”

Here, he smiled at Bruce’s lifted eyebrow. “Yes, he is, you just have to look for it. Besides,” he said, trailing off and looking a bit uncertain. Tim held his breath at his brother’s next words: “I think he is what we need. He is carefully balancing us out, guarding us from going into deep end. A human, in midst of all us _monsters_ , to keep us in check and reality.”

That last part was rushed and whispered, almost escaping Tim, but his keen ear caught it anyway, and he looked down, partially saddened by Dick’s words, partially shaken by his message.

Then Dick and Bruce were walking out, back to Tim, who tried to quickly close the camera feed and pretend nothing had happened, but by the mild glare Bruce send him and the wink Dick gave him, he wasn’t very successful.

Not that he really minded.

“So, if that’s that… Tim, have fun, I’ve got to go because I _might_ have left the Titans in a bit of a crisis. See you soon and please don’t conquer the world in the meantime!” Dick yelled at him from the motorcycle he was climbing on. Tim gave him a salute and a smile, and turned towards Bruce, who was standing behind him with crossed arms and a stern look on his face.

“You’re grounded,” he growled. “Two weeks. And you’ll wash my cars. All of them.”

Tim sighed. It could’ve gone much worse. Thank God for older brothers.

* * *

  **Steph**

Even after so many times of being ambushed from the above and the shadows, the thugs _still_ never really bothered to check them. In Steph’s humble opinion, they were all a bunch of idiots.

Well, it wasn’t exactly _humble,_ but it was also true. Of course, right now this was proving to be very useful. Not that she wasn’t a master of stealth, but she would exploit any possible advantages that they offered her. There was simply too much at stake for any heroics. She could not fail the mission, since the mission was Saving Robin.

A routine patrol that ended with a routine fight with Two-Face’s men separated Batman and Robin. Only Batman returned to the cave afterwards, immediately going back out again to search for Robin.

But the little bird had disappeared without a trace, and no matter what search engines Bruce used, he couldn’t find him.

Until yesterday, that was. By then, Tim had been missing for two days without any word, and Dick arrived from New York where he’d been with the team, to help them search. Batman had even asked Steph to help, which… Just uau.

Sadly, their efforts didn’t produce any results, until one of Bruce’s more shady contacts got wind of a rumour that a certain Joker had acquired a bird.

There’s no need to mention the panic that grabbed them at that.

So, here was Spoiler, slowly making her way around a dark warehouse, the rumoured hiding place of the Joker. But with the number of guards and the manic laughter coming from somewhere deep inside, it looked a lot more real than just a simple rumour.

Batman was on the other side of the town, investigating a similar building. Which will, most likely, turn out to be a trap. But you could never be too careful, not with the Joker.

Steph often found herself wondering about him. All the files clearly stated that he was human, but how could any human be as _inhumane_ and deprived as he was, she had no idea. When he first appeared in the news, she was pretty sure he was a demon or some other sort of messed up being. But then she met Bruce, a real high-tier demon, and realized she had some misconceptions about demons.

She shook her head, trying to clear the memories away. This was not the right time for this. She had to focus, give 110% and get Tim out.

She made another step forward, peeked around the corner and froze. Of fucking course.

It couldn't have been that easy. These things _never_ went according to plan. She should have known.

“Spoiler to all, the Joker is here. I repeat, the Joker is here,” she whispered, hoping that there weren’t any angels anywhere close to her. They had freakingly good hearing, and she did not want to get caught.

“I don’t see Robin, but I also don’t see Harley Quinn. There are some guards, around seven, and the Joker is standing next to a big canister of something. Probably laughing gas,” she reported.

After a second of silence her communicator cracked, Batman’s voice speaking to her: “I am currently occupied, but will make my way to you as soon as possible. Nightwing, assist Spoiler in taking down the Joker, and find Robin.”

“Roger that, B. Spoiler, my ETA is around three minutes. Can you wait that long?” Nightwing asked, switching to a private channel.

She glanced at the gathering below her, and nodded: “Yes. And…”

Then she spotted a couple of guards staring at her hiding spot, and she noticed their wings. Crap. They had angels.

“On second thought, you need to get here now. They spotted me! And they have angels!”

She yelled that last part, not really caring who heard her.

She crouched on the top of the crate, grabbing two batarangs, thanked God for the arsenal Batman gave her before the start of the mission, and then jumped off just as one of the angels was about to hit her. She flew over him, kicking him in the head and throwing the batarangs at the other one.

The other angel shielded himself with his wings, but still gave a pained scream when the batarangs sliced them open. She knew the possibility of them staying down for the entire fight was nonexistent, but this would at least give her a couple of seconds before she died horribly at their hands.

Steph paid no attention to that, keeping her gaze on the Joker himself.

As soon as he noticed her, a huge smile appeared on his face, and he sat back down, motioning to his remaining guards to take down.

Five guys, all big and muscular, two of them with recognizable red tattooes. Uh oh, demons were never a good sign.

She ducked under a punch the closest thug threw, and readied a smoke bomb in her other hand. As soon as he swung again, she blocked and punched him in the stomach, kneeing him in the nose when he doubled over. She threw the smoke bomb at the other men creeping up behind her, hoping to distract them for a second…

“Augh!” She couldn’t help but scream when the last remaining guard got her with a bat to the head. She was lucky she didn’t faint, but the fact that she couldn’t really think from all the pain wasn’t helpful. Then there were hands grabbing and pulling her to her knees, her hands being roughly showed behind her and tied up.

She could hear someone yelling in her ear, and remembered too late that she left the communication channel to Nightwing open.

Well, she couldn’t do anything now, could she.

Then suddenly the Joker was in front of her, and she had totally different thoughts in her head. The main one, of course, being _‘man I’ve really screwed this up, haven’t_ I’.

She noticed she was strangely calm despite the fact she was most certainly facing her death, and realized she probably had a concussion. Oh well.

“Another kid? What is this, bring your child to work day?” Joker wondered, poking her in the face with a finger. “It’s not my fault if they all drop dead, then, isn’t it? Do you think this one will be more fun than the last one? He was so… Quiet. And it was over waaaay too soon. I had tons of ideas I’d wanted to try out, but he didn’t cooperate.”

He sighed, and looked down at Steph, who was barely holding the tears of anger and sadness back. Did this mean Tim was… Dead? Gone? No, it couldn’t… He couldn’t be…

Then the Joker leaned forward, bringing his hand close to her face, and she flinched, but he merely grabbed her communicator and brought it up to his mouth.

“Are you listening, Bats? Your kid was no fun! It was so much better with the last one! I would blow that bird up again any day! This one was too silent for my liking, and he didn’t plead me to let him go. But maybe the new one I have here will do. We’ll see if a scream can really break glass!” he laughed, like he’d just told a great joke, and not something completely idiotic.

Steph was not an easily shaken person, but she had to admit she was scared now. But who wouldn’t be, faced with the Gotham’s resident madman?

Then the Joker threw the communicator to the floor, stomping on it with his foot, still grinning madly. “Well, girl,” he spat, like that was some sort of an insult, “I suppose we should get going.”

He motioned to the thugs holding Steph to pull her up again, which caused the ringing in her ears to start again, and her vision to black out for a second.

The she heard a loud bang and immediately opened her eyes again.

The window behind the Joker was blown open, pieces of it laying everywhere. The light now shining inside, clearly illuminated the figure that had, quite literally, crashed the party.

It was Nightwing, with his big white wings outstretched in a threatening position. Even his stupid costume with the stupid collar and stupid disco look appeared more intimidating that stupid, his hands poised up in a fighting stance.

Steph had never felt so glad to see him.

The Joker immediately turned around, an even bigger smile plastered on his face: “The original! Oh, how have I missed you! Now I can take all of you _Robins_ down! I wonder which of you screams the loudest,” he mused, but couldn’t finish his short speech, because Nightwing threw himself at him.

At the same time he also threw a couple of flash bang grenades at the men currently holding Steph, forcing them to drop her.

The entire thing didn’t help her already messed up head one little bit, and she must’ve blacked out for longer that she’d realized. Because when she opened her eyes again, all the thugs but one were laying on the floor, clearly unconscious. The last one had just been sent flying over Nightwing’s shoulder to crash into the opposite wall, slumping down and falling over.

But those were just thugs, and she didn’t see Joker any… Oh, there he was, trying to use the fight to escape. She opened her mouth to warn Nightwing, but it wasn’t necessary. He spotted the Joker on his own, and threw a batarang in front of him, forcing him a step back.

Joker grinned madly, again. He rubbed his hands and gleefully announced: “Well, it seems you won’t go out the same way the small bird did. The way _both_ birds did.”

And that was it, it seemed. Because Nightwing stopped for a second, his shocked expression morphing into an angry, enraged one, a scream ripping from his throat, his wings shuttering in fury, and he raised his hands, like he was praying to God or something. But then he thrust them against his chest, saying something in a language Steph didn’t recognize, and pulling them away, materialising a freaking sword out of nowhere.

Steph immediately went over her mental files on angels: fucking strong, have wings, better senses, can heal other people… Where did it mention any swords? And then: oh. The Soul Keeper, as the sword was named, normally resided in a separate dimension, but could be pulled out of it in moments of extreme distress. Which, she guessed, was now.

Even the Joker looked impressed at that display, and was about to say something, but didn’t get the chance. Nightwing rushed forward, his fury evident in his inelegant movement and the power with which he swung at the Joker, almost decapitating him.

Then Steph could only watch with worry and wonder as they fought. She didn’t recall seeing Nightwing like this ever before, and it unnerved her. Gone was his elegance, his swift movement, his precision and almost dance-like way in which he moved and fought, the one she loved seeing. No, in their place was by fury powered strength, angry hits and broad strokes of the sword.

The Joker didn’t stand a chance against him. He fell down in the first ten seconds, trying to evade a punch, to instead receive a kick in the stomach and an elbow to the neck. The next hit got him right into his jaw, and then again, the next three hitting his ribs and forcing him to his knees.

Steph subconsciously knew what was about to happen, but even as Nightwing raised the sword, she found herself unable to move or speak, wishing that _something_ would happen, knowing that it wouldn’t.

Time didn’t slow down. She didn’t watch in slow motion how the sword came down, but still without realising, closed her eyes.

To open them a second later when a loud voice yelled: “NO!” from behind her, scaring her to hell.

Batman had obviously arrived, but too late.

Nightwing was standing above a corpse, his sword still impaled through Joker’s heart, both of his hands gripping the hilt, his wings spread above him, looking imposing and grave.

But not white, not any more. Dark blue lines ran from the ends of the feathers towards Nightwing’s back, sparkling in the semi darkness.

He lifted his head, staring into darkness in front of him.

Behind him, Bruce all horrified whispered: “What have you done?”

* * *

As it turned out, Tim wasn’t dead. Steph nearly cried out of joy when she saw him, alive and breathing, and he had been just as happy to see her. Then he heard the news.

Dick and Bruce stayed in the cave, alone, for a very long time. Steph could hear them yelling at eachother, breaking things and hitting stuff. She wanted to go down and do _something,_ but Alfred stopped her, saying that they needed to get it out.

And they did. Almost a day later, Bruce came back up again, gloomy and dark, but no more than usual. They didn’t see Dick leave, but they did see his Nightwing uniform that he’d left behind.

Which worried them for about a week, until Blüdhaven somehow acquired a new protector. A certain angel, who was calling himself Nightwing.

His uniform was new, his hair was short, and his wings were midnight blue.

 

Steph resigned to never really knowing what he and Bruce had talked about, and how he could still be so trusted, even after breaking one of their ground laws. Not that she minded, really. In her mind, she was extremely happy that the Joker was gone. The only thing that bothered her a bit was that Nightwing was the executioner, but it couldn’t be helped.

But he’d finally made Gotham a safer place, and that’s what counted, in the end. Saving people. Who knew how many more would’ve died if the Joker was not dead, but simply ‘imprisoned’? She shuddered just thinking about it.

And, in the real end, she still trusted him. Because if you couldn’t trust Nightwing, who _could_ you trust?

* * *

**Jason**

Fucking typical, that’s what it was. It always happened to him! _Someone_ upstairs had to have it out for him, because there was simply no other reason this was happening to him.

Jason uttered a string of courses that would put even the Devil himself to shame when he dived behind the dumpster that was currently the only thing separating his body from about a dozen bullets.

He risked a peek around the side, but quickly pulled his head back from the spray of bullets that assaulted him.

While he was the guy that joked about death all the time, he was in no hurry to repeat the experience himself. The others? They could go fuck themselves, as far as Jason cared.

Especially _these_ guys. Jason had some vague idea about their identity, but, given that all other information about them had proven to be incorrect, he wouldn’t really bet on their names being correct.

What he did know was that they worked for Black Mask, and that they were here on some shady business, probably buying drugs and possibly murdering people.

So, something the famous and amazing Red Hood would benefit from hitting.

Of course, with _‘here’_ being Blüdhaven, Jason was none too happy with their choice of location. Because Blüdhaven, being even _more_ corrupt than Gotham (and how the fuck did they even manage that was beyond Jason), attracted its own protector.

The infamous Nightwing, lurking in the shadows and hunting criminals, that was reportedly, _‘a dark angel’_ and _‘a dangerous inhuman predator’_ with _‘amazingly dangerous looks’_ that could _‘encharm and then devour anyone he set his sights on_ ’.

Now why was that that Jason couldn’t get reviews like those?

Not that he was scared of Nightwing, no way. Dick was good, but Jason was _better._  No more was the Golden Boy the guaranteed winner of their fights, and Jason wanted to prove that to him.

Then he scoffed at himself. No, not prove. He didn’t have anything to prove to his supposed _family._  What was Dick even playing at, with calling them that? He certainly had never been around when Jason was growing up, but then another kid came around and they were suddenly best bros? What the hell?

Just because Dick was an angel that didn’t mean he didn’t have many faults, even if Bruce refused to acknowledge that. That’s why he raised a perfectionist, to whom Jason _never_ held a candle, at least in Bruce’s eyes.

He was still angry at Dick, for setting up an impossibly high standard, and then just abandoning him, trying to ignore his incompetence.

But he was even more angry at Bruce and his many failures.

Although right now he was absolutely mad at the thugs shooting at him.

The Red Hood was still trying to maintain a human image, so that no one would ever suspect him of being a demon, which meant covering behind a dumpster, and not teleporting behind the thugs and knocking them out.

Jason wondered for a second if it really was that important to have everyone think he was a human, then remembered the new special bullets and knifes that’d been developed with the sole purpose of hurting a demon, and he shrunk back down, trying to think of a way out.

He had to move _before_ the bad guys noticed his inactivity and rushed him, successfully defeating him simply with the sheer number of them.

There were several plans in his head already, but all of them either required backup, which he did not have, or the full use of his abilities, which he could not afford to do, or…

The telltale sound of wings moving somewhere close to him, the sudden screams that penetrated the sound of gunfire, and the loud curses could only mean one thing: Nightwing was here.

Jason adjusted his helmet, checked his special blade, and stood up, the gun in his hand pointing forward.

He shouldn’t have bothered.

Five additional guys had joined the seven, the ones Jason had downed before he retreated, on the floor, and the rest ran off, abandoning the last guy to Nightwing’s mercy.

Speaking of Nightwing…

His midnight blue wings were darker and bigger than Jason remembered, and his suit was different as well. Darker, with only black, and a blue V on his chest, with its stripes going down to his fingers. His hair was short as well, but he was still as lean and muscular as before.

He looked exactly like the news described him; a dark angel, a predator.

The man struggling in his grasp was trying to scream, but Nightwing’s fingers gripped his neck even tighter, bringing him up to his face and hissing something to him that Jason was too far away to hear.

Then Nightwing let the man fall to the floor, and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Fucking demons.

Now Nightwing lifted his head, and his gaze settled on Jason, who was standing a few metres away, still pointing a gun at him.

“Red Hood,” he said, cocking his head to the right, and pulling his wings closer to him, readying them in an attack stance.

“What are you doing in _my_ city?” he then growled, emphasizing the word ‘my’.

Jason debated with himself for a moment if he should answer truthfully or not. While Dick could usually detect lies and bullshit with ease, he still needed to see the person’s face and read their body language to do that. And with Jason having his helmet on, he was pretty sure Dick had no idea what he was thinking about.

“And why should I tell you?” he asked Dick instead of answering his question.

Before he even closed his mouth at the last word, Dick disappeared, only to appear a second later next to Jason, using the surprise to rip the gun out of his hands and throw it away, then grab Jason and _hug_ him, and…

Oh, they were flying.

As soon as Jason got over his shock that Dick could apparently _teleport_ himself now and realized what was happening, he reached with his not restrained left hand for the special iron blade in his jacket, pulling it out and thrusting into Dick’s abdomen in one swift motion, where he held it for a second before pulling it out.

Dick gasped in pain, his wings fluttering, and his hands released Jason, who immediately teleported himself to the roof below them.

Then he looked up at Nightwing.

Dick was looking up into the sky, slowly and loudly breathing through his parted mouth, his wings shaking, and his hands pressing on the wound. He started falling towards the roof below him, and Jason wasn’t sure if he should catch him.

But then Dick’s wings spasmed once, twice, just enough to slow his fall and allow him to more or less land on his feet, before stumbling and falling down on his knees.

Jason was already there, next to him, but Dick angrily swatted him away, still eerily silent, except for the pained gasps. So Jason stepped back, lifting his hands up in defeat, and just watched.

Dick was on his knees for a few moments longer, panting, clearly waiting to get his breath back. Then he slowly extended both wings, and closed his eyes.

As he opened them again, they were light sparkling blue, and he turned his head upwards, looking at the stars. Jason looked up as well, and missed the sudden thrust against the wound that Dick’s hands made. But he didn’t miss the beginning of the scream that started to make its way out of his throat, but was quickly cut off by Dick gritting his teeth together.

That’s how they stayed for a few seconds before Dick lowered his head, and the light in his eyes and around his wound dissipated, fading to nothing. The blood was gone as well, and his stomach was completely healed.

When he suddenly spoke, his tone was light and playful, like absolutely nothing had happened: “That hurt like a bitch. Where did you get an angel blade?”

Jason was too surprised to answer at first, but he quickly recovered and smirked, knowing fully well that Dick couldn’t see his expression: “Wouldn’t you like to know, ha?”

“Yes, I would,” answered Dick, standing up and stretching his wings and arms simultaneously. “But I suppose I kinda had it coming.”

Jason rolled his eyes: “You think? Hey, at least that hasn’t changed - you are still a dick, even all these years later.”

Dick lowered his head with a sad smile on his face. “I suppose that hasn’t changed,” he murmured.

Which of course reminded Jason: “Yeah, like everything else! Since when can you teleport? Also, black wings? Started new trend, have we?”

“I wish. No, it’s a lot more complicated. It’s a long story, and…” he glanced around their surroundings, then continued: “I would prefer not to do the explaining here.”

* * *

 “Are you kidding me?” Jason yelled. He was pretty sure Dick was kidding. Like, 87% sure. Quite sure.

“I was as surprised as you are,” Dick said. They were seating in one of his better safe houses, sipping coffee and talking. Dick was in his civilian clothes, his wings lazily sprawled across the sofa he was sitting on, facing a very not-relaxed Jason on a couch.

“I mean, I’ve never even heard of something like that before, but apparently…” he trailed off, looking into the distance like the wall held all the answers to the universe.

It didn’t, Jason checked.

“But still. And you didn’t know?” he asked Dick.

Dick shrugged: “Never even considered it. It simply wasn’t something… Possible.”

Jason quietly laughed at that: “You tell me. But… How did you find out?”

“Apparently Bruce knew long before I did. And when some unexplainable shit started going on with me, he just swooped in, dropped the bomb on me, and whush! Was gone,” Dick said, then sighed. “Of course, then he devised some amazingly terrible training programs for me and my new abilities, to, and I quote, ‘Help you control your dangerous powers that you suddenly found in your possession,’ unquote. That’s also why I changed my costume and moved here. Staying with the Titans was just not an option.”

He dropped his head on his hand and sighed again.

“Now your name suits you even better,” Jason smiled.

Dick nodded knowingly, and then light up suddenly: “Hey, do you think Kal knew?”

“Probably. I mean, he _is_ in the top tier, so yeah, he probably did,” Jason guessed. He’d heard the origin story of Nightwing’s name, they all have.

“And he still gave me the name…” Dick trailed off, unsure of how to proceed.

Jason didn’t want to push him, but he wanted the answers, so he asked: “How did Bruce know before you?”

Dick chuckled at that: “Apparently since he is a higher class demon, he could sense it.”

“Did you ask him if…” Jason trailed off, unsure if he could even ask something like that or not. But apparently, Dick had guessed what he was about to say: “If he knew from the beginning? If he took me in because of that? No, I didn’t. I don’t know why; I was probably just afraid of the answer.”

Now everything was just awkward, and Jason averted his gaze, staring through the only window in the room.

It had started to rain outside, darkness doing little to ameliorate the city’s ugly look. How Dick of all people could live here was beyond Jason, but he didn’t want to say anything. Their relationship was already strained, mostly because Jason, but also a lot because Dick and his anger problems, and he didn’t want to make it worse. But still.

There was nothing keeping Jason here. The Black Mask’s deal had been successfully busted, and he had nothing else to do here. He should return to Gotham as soon as possible.

“Well, Dick, it was nice talking to you and clearing shit up. But I have to go now,” he said, standing up and stretching. “This doesn’t change anything, you know,” he added as he was picking up his weapons that Dick made him drop to the floor.

“Of course not,” Dick said. “I didn’t expect it. I’m just happy that you are _talking_ to me again. I know that I wasn’t even close to being a good brother, and I apologize. I…” he cut himself off, apparently unsure of what to say.

Jason didn’t really want to hear it, so he just huffed: “It’s okay, dickface. Goodbye for now.”

And as he was stepping out of the window, he looked back, at his brother’s slumped form, and said: “And remember, someone once long ago said; _If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels._ ”

Dick perked up at that, his wings stirring: “Who was it?”

Jason shrugged: “Don’t remember, doesn’t really matter. Just… Remember it, alright?”

And he was gone.

* * *

**Damian**

"I simply can’t do it!”

Grayson’s angry yell echoing around was the first thing Damian heard as he appeared in the cave.

His knees were all wobbly and his vision was spinning, and he berated himself for forgetting just how much energy was needed for teleportation just as his legs gave out and he crashed to the floor.

He could vaguely register someone yelling his name and dashing to his side. Then there were warm hands supporting and lifting him up, carefully inspecting his damaged shoulder. He couldn’t help himself but hiss when they touched the twisted ankle, and then he was being carried, probably over to the medical table.

Somewhere along the way he closed his eyes, resting his head on the strong chest of the person holding him.

_Father._

His eyes snapped open when he felt himself being laid down on the hard surface of the bed, and he stared up at Grayson.

Grayson was wearing the Batman suit, minus the cape and cowl, so his entire face was visible. He appeared worried, and was leaning over Damian, trying to inspect the shoulder wound better. His wings were also visible, spawning far and wide, blocking the overhead lights from Damian’s face. Which was for the best, because everything hurt right now and strong light was among the things that would just worsen his headache.

Grayson was saying something, so Damian tried to concentrate on that and understand what was being said.

“-and why for God’s sake! Damian!”

Ah, so nothing important.

“Grayson, will you stop with your inane yelling? It is just a slight flesh wound,” he forced himself to say, his ears still ringing a bit from the explosion.

He hoped that that would be enough, but even as he said it, he knew it was a futile endeavour to get Grayson to stop worrying about him.

In some little, very heavily guarded and never opened part of his mind he had long ago admitted to himself that he _liked_ the worry Grayson always showed. Because that meant that he _cared_ , and there weren’t many people who did.

He was, however, right: Grayson didn’t even scowl at him, just rolled his eyes: “That is _not_ just a flesh wound, Little D. And I’m pretty sure you have a concussion and a twisted ankle.”

Damn it. A sprained ankle would put him out of commission for at least three days, which was downright _unacceptable._

But it couldn’t be helped, and Damian already started reaching for the nearest bandage, when Grayson stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, holding up his hands. “I can heal you.”

That… That was unexpected.

While Damian did know that Grayson, having angel blood in his veins, had the capability to heal others, he never expected himself to be on the receiving end of that gift. He tried to defend this to himself by imagining that he was simply too _good_ to ever need something like that, but deep down, in the dark places of his mind he dared not to visit, he feared he was just not worth it.

Now that it was being offered to him, just like that. Damian knew Grayson, and knew that the other would not demand, would not even _expect_ anything in return. That for Grayson this was not a big deal, that for him this was like offering Damian a glass of water.

Damian’s mouth was suddenly dry.

Grayson nervously chuckled next to him: “If you don’t want to, just say it. But I thought-”

“Why?”

The question stopped Grayson, who now looked confused: “Why what?”

Damian repeated the question: “Why would you heal me?”

Now Grayson smiled, his blue eyes lighting up and his wings stretching: “Why wouldn’t I? You’re hurt, bleeding, and I can make that go away. I can _heal_ you, save you from the pain, and I think you would appreciate going into the field tomorrow, not after a week.”

So that’s what this is all about. Grayson was only worried about Damian’s helpfulness in the field. Not that he-

“Stop it.”

He looked up, confused. Why did Grayson…?”

“Damian, I can see what’s going on inside your head. And it’s not what you think,” Grayson said, sitting on the bed next to Damian’s legs. “I’m not worried about your performance, for God’s sake, or your _usefulness_! Damian, this is just a matter of me being able to do something to ease your pain, and me wanting to do it! How is this any different from me offering to help you bandage your chest or stitch up a wound?”

Damian thought about this for a second. Grayson did raise some good points, and if what he said was really true, there was no reason for Damian to reject the offered service anymore.

“I suppose,” he begun, “it could be beneficial if I am fully healed and in the field as soon as possible.”

“Alright then!” Grayson loudly exclaimed, jumping off the bed with a wide smile on his face. “Just lie down and breathe,” he instructed Damian.

He obeyed, carefully maneuvering his body so that he didn’t hit his injured shoulder, while watching how Grayson was preparing for the ordeal.

His wings were stretched even further out, easily spanning six metres, with small sparkles of blue lighting mixed between midnight blue-black feathers. His eyes were glowing soft blue, and sparkles of the same colour were dancing over his hands as well. He smiled down at Damian, and slowly extended his left arm over Damian’s ankle. His right hand went to Damian’s shoulder, and he slowly pressed down.

Damian involuntarily closed his eyes, the feeling of numbness spreading through his body made him sleepy, and he didn’t see the need to resist that.

He felt safe.

* * *

 “So, Damian, what happened?” asked Grayson later, when they were both sitting on a couch in the living room, the TV playing some stupid science fiction series in the background that Grayson had requested.

Damian was leaning on him, wrapped in a thick blanket. Both were drinking hot chocolate, but only Grayson’s had whipped cream.

The only reason why Damian allowed this was because he could see how much energy the healing required, and how tired Grayson was now. He would only be a liability in the field, and could potentially get hurt, which is simply not acceptable.

He definitely wasn’t here because he _enjoyed_ being comfortably curled up in Grayson’s arms, covered with blanket, ignoring the wild wind blowing outside and sipping his hot drink. It was all for Grayson’s sake.

But now Grayson had interrupted his thoughts, and forced him back to the topic he was trying to avoid; his failure.

Nevertheless, he began explaining the catastrophe: “I was tracking down an informant who was in possession of important information regarding the case we are currently working on, when several masked men attacked me. At least three of them were lower class demons, and the rest were armed with the new bullets, capable of piercing demon’s skin.”

At this point, Grayson shifted under him, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. But since he was obviously not about to say anything, Damian continued: “I was able to banish two of the demons before they hit me in the shoulder. Then an unknown person blew up the building we were-”

This time, Grayson did interrupt him with a sharp exhale of breath and a growled: “What.”

Damian continued, nonplussed: “Seeing no other option, I teleported myself to the cave. The informant… Got away. The mission was a failure. I apologize.”

He looked down, avoiding Grayson’s gaze, hoping to miss the disappointment in those unbelievably bright blue eyes. He hated talking about his failures almost as much as he hated failing his missions.

“Damian. Damian, look up.”

He refused, stubbornly staring at the TV, not really comprehending what the movie was about, when Grayson’s hand gently lifted his chin, forcing him to meet the blue eyes.

Grayson was always so open with his emotions, not really bothering to hide his feelings, and although Damian often insulted him about that particular trait, he cherished it at moments like these.

When you stared at Grayson, and knew that what the man was showing you was genuine, real, really there and not just a lie to make you drop your guard or make a fool out of you.

Right now Damian could see concern, mixed with understanding and something he couldn’t really name, but was still good and not bad. He couldn’t see even a trace of disappointment, and that was what mattered.

“Kiddo, I’m not angry. Well, not really. God knows how many times I’ve done something similar, snuck out when I shouldn’t have... Of course, _I_ never had the common sense to return back here after a botched mission, and had ended up as bait more often than not,” he chuckled, like it was funny how his incompetence got him in perilous situations.

But who was Damian to talk, when he’d nearly done the same thing?

Grayson continued: “So yeah, I was just a little bit mad that you snuck out on your own. But I was way more _worried,_ and then just happy that you were more or less okay, so I didn’t have time to get properly angry. And now I’m just glad everything is fine.”

He murmured something that sounded to Damian suspiciously like ‘Now I know how B felt every time I did that to him’, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Don’t worry about the informant - I believe I’d found another reliable lead. Tomorrow we’ll bust them all together at the scene of the crime, alright?”

Damian nodded happily, then, finishing his chocolate, stood up and turned towards the stairs, ready to go up to his room.

But before he could reach the stairs, Grayson’s voice reached him: “And Damian? I know how capable you are, but it would still be nice if you could drop me a hint that you were going out, _alone,_ the next time you do it.”

Damian rolled his eyes, knowing fully well that even though Grayson couldn’t see his face, he would know what he’d done, and smiled.

He ran up the stairs with a lighter heart and a feeling everything was going to be just fine.

And when the loud _“I love you! Sleep tight!"_  reached him, he didn’t scowl or yell something insulting back.

He simply whispered “I love you too,” confirming something he had felt for some time now, aloud, for the first time.

And if his mind added the word _dad_ at the end, well, no one needed to know that, did they?

* * *

  **Dick - Revelations (a short piece)**

He would never have guessed on his own. How could he even suspect anything like that was possible? And it was him, for God’s sake! The poster boy for angels, the one Kal kept trying to convince to join him, the one that no one believed belonged to Gotham…

It all had to do with his family. His mum, an angel, and his father, a human. At least, that was what everyone thought. But Bruce knew better.

And Bruce explained it to him.

His father had actually been a demon, disguised as a human, lying to everyone but his mum. That’s why they had so many miscarriages - out of all three, the demon and angel DNA are least compatible.

But it worked, and now Dick was here, half demon, half angel, one of only a million of them.

It made sense, actually, if the thought about it. Which he tried not to, because that always lead to him wondering what would’ve happened if he knew all along?

Would it make it easier for him, to not question his every move and thought for they were not exactly as angel like as he would want them to? Or would there just be more pressure on him, a supposed ‘battle’ going on between the two halves of his soul?

It would have made the use of his demon powers and the understanding of what was happening easier, but it would also mean more distrust in people. People, who he'd lied to, unknowingly and would now hate him, or at least left him _alone_ again.

But Bruce stopped that train of thought. Because if Bruce, his mentor and father, was a demon, it meant it wasn’t anything _bad._ It didn’t necessarily make him less trustworthy just because his DNA wasn’t 100% angel. It only made him better, stronger, and more resilient. Which he welcomed with open hands.

Still, Bruce could only help so much. There were so many unanswered questions left, and so much time to ponder them.

After all, the entire world had turned upside down for him just five short years ago. He had plenty of time to think, his entire life still laying in front of him. Or, well, it would, if he wasn’t a reckless vigilante working in a city worse than Gotham. But hey, you can’t-

A doorbell ringing broke him out of his thoughts, and he smiled when he heard the voices yelling from the living room.

“Get the door, hunk wonder! It’s pizza!”

“If it is not vegetarian, I will leave.”

“Please tell me you didn’t order ananas again?”

“Of course he did. He always does. He’s such a dick.”

“Oh shut up, Jason.”

“Make me, kid.”

“You really want that, huh?!”

“Guys, no!”

His family was still there. He was not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> well, there it is. I hope I 'captured' everyone in their element, and maybe changed things just a little bit to suit the story better. But you can pry the headcanon that Damian views dick as a father figure out of my dead, cold hands.  
> anyways. i hope it wasnt too confusing, but it is like 1am over here and I had a long day and I have school tomorrow morning...


End file.
